


The Cold Turkey Sandwich

by flowersaretarts



Category: Vurt - Jeff Noon
Genre: Drugs, F/F, Romance, Sadness, one way love, summer loving, vurt - Freeform, vurt feathers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-01
Updated: 2015-10-01
Packaged: 2018-04-24 07:01:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4909789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowersaretarts/pseuds/flowersaretarts





	The Cold Turkey Sandwich

Falling for an actress, especially a porn actress, is highly irrational and would turn your nerves into a bath sponge. 

Her name was Dolores, I should have guessed. The woman named “Sorrow”, what else would you expect? 

Every night at 22:30 I would open my pencil case and take a fine specimen that was “Pulcherrima Rosa”. It was a mean fucker of a theater. Gentle pink with a few golden spots, it would go down your throat, taking you to the sweet shop of your best porn nightmare. 

It was like having your brain fucked by angels with pneumatic drills, feeding you manna of heaven and piercing your heart, stabbing it well through.

She was the one, the beauty, the dark-haired merry murderess. The innocence I used to revisit, the taste of smoke, rose oil, red wine and salty tears. 

Why the fuck I asked her about the music in the theater? Why did she respond to me, telling me all about it, making a small talk? This was a horrible mistake. 

I should have listened to my younger self saying “Do not ever, ever, ever get emotionally dependent on other people”. Did I fucking listen? We never do, do we. 

Why would the cunt be so nice to me? Why would she give me hope that we could possibly have any kind of beautiful friendship? Or maybe it was something I was imagining all the way? Maybe, I am the cunt. 

I jerked out, spitting out the feather from my mouth. The bastard came twirling down, as its colour turned pale cream. I stomped it into the concrete floor. Smashed and smeared it. 

Hands in pockets, shades down, I walked away down the stairs to my flat. The honeymoon is over. It’s time to taste some cold turkey, darling.


End file.
